


Five times Lydia Bennet kissed Mr George Wickham

by Hope_x



Series: Five times they kissed [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hope_x/pseuds/Hope_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia/Wickham fluff-ish, some angst.</p><p>Five very different moments in the life of the Wickhams that centre around kissing. Charting their life and love post book.</p><p>A positive view of their lives!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Lydia Bennet kissed Mr George Wickham

Lydia giggled and pressed a kiss upon her Wickham’s lips, and then another and another. It had been such an excellent idea of George’s to bring them away to London, such a lark. She wondered what her friends in Brighton would think; she thought not at all of those in Longbourne and the -shire.

The two of them strolled good-naturedly down Oxford street, Lydia with her hand through her Wickham’s arm. George had been describing some rambunctious evenings he had had in the gentleman’s clubs here, Lydia had been laughing along, and remonstrating him most openly with kisses. Neither paid too much attention to the looks they were getting from those on the street, here no one knew them. Suddenly Lydia was drawn to one of the shop windows, where she saw a most beautiful confection of lace in the shape of a bonnet. She entreated George most strongly to go in with her and watch as she tried it on, ‘it could be my wedding bonnet, George!’ she cried excitedly.

Suddenly, George clutched her arm, spun her around and pulled her body flush with his.  
‘We could try it on, or we could retire to our abode and find some other form of, ah, entertainment.’ He said, in a low voice, before pressing his lips against hers deeply. When they broke apart Lydia smiled broadly and allowed herself to be led away from the bonnet, towards much more promising activities.

She let the memory of the bonnet linger, to be remembered when she did buy wedding clothes. Which she was sure would be sometime soon but it was hardly a thing that needed to be rushed into just now, not while they were having such fun in London. A wedding would drag them both to the -shire, and necessitate her Wickham to have to stay away from her on the grounds of propriety, that would be entirely a dull experience, and one Lydia wanted to delay for as long as possible. It would happen sometime, what was the use in doing it now?

* * *

Climbing into the carriage with her Uncle Gardiner looking so stern, and the memory of the sour look on that horrid Mr Darcy’s face, had not been how Lydia had envisioned her ride to her own wedding breakfast. She had envision a gorgeous chaise and four, with plush velvet seats, her family and friends cheering behind her, her mother in tears of happiness, the whole regiment of the -shire come out to enjoy the sport, and there her Wickham next to her resplendent in his red officer’s coat, grinning broadly at her. Instead, here he was in his normal clothes, a white shirt and black over coat, she herself had not even been allowed to purchase any new wedding clothes! The very thought of it. Instead of grinning her George was halfway between looking mildly dazed, and as if he was considering something very serious. Lydia was sure that was just the affect of having her Uncle Gardiner in the carriage with them.

They were not even on their way to a wedding breakfast for goodness sake, just tea at her Uncle’s house in town, which had been awfully dull in the week she had stayed there prior to the wedding. Though, Lydia expected, it might be rather more fun now she were married, as her Aunt had so dearly seemed to want her to be. Inwardly, Lydia resigned herself to this fate and pushed forwards to gaiety, always gaiety. She smiled, over-joyed when she looked at her handsome husband sat next to her, and leant over to give him a smooth kiss on the lips, right in front of her Uncle. Wickham, for his part, pressed his warm lips to hers and gave her a sly smile as they both glanced towards their weary Uncle, who merely frowned. The newly wed couple laughed together, Wickham taking Lydia’s hand in his own, ‘Gaiety, my love,’ he reminded her, ‘always gaiety.’

* * *

‘I have brought you a present, Mrs Wickham!’ come the voice from the doorway of the house. Lydia stood quickly, and moved with speed from the drawing room, where she had been completing some sowing, to the hall and down the short distance (shorter than she would like, in the house that was smaller than she had wished it to be) to be standing in front of her husband by the door. She leant forwards to press a kiss against his cheek, and took the hat he proffered to her.

Gracie burst down the stairs, followed at a no less helter skelter pace by Charlie, as Lydia hung up the hat and George scraped off his boots.  
‘Present?!’ Gracie cried, reaching the bottom step and rushing towards her father, he swung her up through the air and then caught her in his arms.  
'Yes, a present my love.’ he said as Grace giggled. ‘But not for you for mummy.’ He smiled indulgently over at Lydia, who was scooping Charlie from the ground, to prevent the tantrum that was about to start over his lack of attention. Gracie giggled again as Charlie reached for her and tugged her hair. 'Come into the drawing room and I shall show you my wondrous present for mummy,’ Wickham said, staring off at a pace making Gracie’s laughter louder.  
'Present, mummy?’ Charlie said uncertainly.  
‘That’s right Charlie boy!’ Lydia smiled broadly, ‘lets go and see what daddy has brought us!’ She swung the little boy in her arms, dancing down the hall way.

* * *

‘But, but, why must you go?’, Lydia asked unhappily, fingering the broach, a present from so many years ago. ‘Surely they have other men to oversee them?.’  
George took another sip of his brandy, he was sat with his feet spread apart, elbows resting on knees and head hanging down, his chestnut hair falling gracefully downwards, with only a speckle of grey. Lydia sat on the floor of their bedroom, her back supported by one of his legs, her own light red hair showing no sign of ageing yet.  
‘They say that no one can command my regiment as well as me, and I have to say I agree with them.’ He explained, one hand reaching out to stroke her curls.  
‘But you’re a solider not a sailor,’ came the reply, voice beginning to shake.  
'I know, and I will be a solider again when we hit the continent, they’re going to need all the soldiers they can get when we get to Belgium.’ He kissed the top of her head tenderly, and passed her the brandy.  
‘I could, I could, come with you!’ She suggested a spark in her voice, ‘be a camp follower.’  
She smiled waveringly up at him, he loved the fire in her eyes even now and hated to douse it.  
'No, my love, you know you must stay here, for the kids. They cannot have both of us ... .’ He stopped, he found he could not finish that sentence and neither of them wanted him to.  
  
Lydia sighed, pushing herself up from her position on the floor, she placed the brandy glass to one side and pressed herself against George. With one leg on either side of his lap, she knelt on the bed and encircled him in her arms, pulling his head close to her chest until he could hear her heartbeat, quick and strong. No more words were needed as Lydia turned her head down and her beautiful, wondrous, husband tilted his up. Their lips met in the middle as they had a million times before, but this time the kiss was invaded with a dripping sweetness, that made them both grimace and smile in turns. Lydia caught her breath and laughed, as George fell back onto the bed pulling her with him.

* * *

Lydia felt the wave of sickness rise in her throat, she grasped onto her broach and walked forwards stoutly. She kept her eyes trained on the nurse she was following, refusing to look left or right, refusing to acknowledge the sounds that came from so near by. Lydia remembered, in that moment, to be thankful that she made friends so easily even in the darkest of times, first the women on the boat that her brother-in-law had secured her passage on, then the couple who owned her tiny lodgings, and now here, she had been fortunate to befriend a nurse while checking the hospitals. Her friend had asked around, there were too many places they had been taken for Lydia to work effectively alone, but with her friend’s help they had found him.  
  
The aftermath of the battles had been terrible, there were so many dead already and countless more wounded that Lydia had once wondered if she would ever find him at all or if he would be another of the unnumbered thousands who just, she shuddered now despite the warmth of the room, disappeared.

But Lydia was of a naturally optimistic countenance, especially in the worst of times and she did not allow such thoughts to plague her for long. She knew she would find him, and so she did, here in some tiny field hospital on the outskirts of the Belgian city. He was here, her Wickham. The nurse lead her into another room, the smell hit Lydia even before she had walked through the archway. It smelt of sweat, of blood, of flesh, of pain, and of something else, something sweet that she could not identify until she had walked in. Lavender, there were so many bunches of lavender around the room. Lydia began to studiously study the purple blooms to avoid looking at the soldiers all around her, they were on every available surface, on the ten beds that encircled the room, then others were on pallets on the floor, and those who did not fit on the pallets were on the floor itself, bleeding, and moaning and crying.

Lydia looked at the lavender propped in any available space, not that there was much left, and remembered how it had once been her favourite flower, how she had run through it on summer days and invited her George to smell her afterwards, and how he had always kissed her and said she had smelt of sunshine.

She looked up and an overwhelming mix of relief and nausea ran through her very core, there he was! Stretched out on one of the few beds, his handsome face weatherbeaten, swollen, wrapped in bandages, and, Lydia gulped, encrusted with blood. But at least it was his! Dark hair matted and pressed against his skull. His uniform had been torn, and changed to accommodate his arm, his arm, his missing arm! She rushed over to him, grasping his one remaining hand and looked up at the nurse in shock.  
‘He was hit pretty hard with the shrapnel, we had to amputate.’ She said, before turning away to administer some medicine to another man.

Wickham opened his one good eye, ‘Ly - di - ya.’ He gasped, blinking.  
'Yes, my darling, I’m here.’ She said, with a watery smile, all the love she had always felt rushing through her veins making her dizzy with joy and fear. She brushed his hair out of his good eye.  
‘Knew. You. Would come.’ Her Wickham pushed out. ‘Had. Them bring. Lavender. Knew you. Liked it.’  
Lydia laughed, her voice high, ‘you always were a charmer, my love. Which nurse did you flirt with to get your way?’ Lydia asked, then throwing aside any semblance of propriety she climbed up onto the bed next to her George and pressed herself against his good side.  
‘No. Flirting!’ He expressed, a shadow of a grin on his face. ‘Just. Natural. Charm. Reason. You. Love me.’  
Lydia giggled at that, ‘Oh yes, my darling, that is very true.’ She leant over and pressed a kiss hard against his lips, George responded by deepening the kiss, though his lips were chapped and parched Lydia kissed him as she never had before. When the broke apart, gasping for breath George wrapped his good arm around her and pulling her close to him.  
‘Gaiety, my love,’ breathed Lydia laying her head on his shoulder as George’s eyes began to droop again, ‘always gaiety.’

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for the battle in Belgium came from another fanfiction, (A Constant Love by sturner1805, http://archiveofourown.org/works/839394/chapters/1599514 which I highly recommend). which was actually historically accurate. Mine is less so, as the battle was supposed to be Waterloo, which would have happened soon after their marriage, not years after as portrayed here.  
> Lydia obviously sent the children to stay with Jane when she went on her trip, and Darcy secured her passage across.
> 
> The line ‘Gaiety, always gaiety,’ comes from Lost in Austen but I just feels sums up Wickham and Lydia, so well that I had to use it.
> 
> I love these two, thanks for reading!


End file.
